


Material Accidents

by AutumnHobbit



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Gen, Hurt Slight Comfort, Short, batfamily
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 03:55:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10801167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnHobbit/pseuds/AutumnHobbit
Summary: anonymous said: I know you said Tim and Damian but can it be Steph and Damian about dead Tim maybe?





	Material Accidents

**Author's Note:**

> blech.
> 
> because I am artistically bankrupt and had no idea what to name this, the title is from a Chesterton quote: "Death, disease, insanity, are merely material accidents, like a toothache or a twisted ankle. That these brutal forces always besiege and often capture the citadel does not prove that they are the citadel." Twelve Types (1903) "Sir Walter Scott"

The third day after it happens, Steph climbs back through the window of her apartment with a hole in her heart. She'd cried in Bruce's arms, cried herself out until she had no more tears left to cry, constantly feeling these odd little jars of realization and horror and heartbreak when Bruce's breaths hitched and his chest heaved with helpless, broken sobs of his own. She felt as though breathing was too much effort. She felt like nothing would ever be right again.

And three days later, she's back on the streets. Because she doesn't know what else to do.

She pulls her cowl back when she's in the window, exhaling heavily and trying to get a grip. She doesn't really have the energy to cry any more, but the urge is there and all she wants to do is curl up and sleep and forget that any of this ever happened. But as she turns to head down the hall, a tiny voice from across the room whispers, "Brown?"

She whirls, heart pounding. Bruce wouldn't be here because he already came and no one else would care or be able to, and Tim is _gone_ and---

She freezes when she sees him. Her eyes, adjusted to the darkness, fix upon the tiny form, in bright colors which are somehow drained by the darkness surrounding them, washed out. His gloved hands are held up in a vain attempt to calm her down, and his eyes are huge behind his lenses. "B-Brown?" He asks again, his voice faltering in what she would almost call fear.

And her heart drops to her feet, because _hell,_ she didn't even think about Damian _once_ during the past few days. Didn't even realize he wasn't around, and then she forgot. And now he's here, in her apartment in the dark with fear in his eyes and a shudder in his breathing, his little chest heaving occasionally in stifled panic.

"Damian," she says, and she doesn't recognize her own voice. It's hoarse and rusty from disuse and tears.

_Don't ask me what happened. Please don't ask me what happened. It's been three days and I can't face it and it still hurts and it always will and you weren't here---_

"I." Damian's breath hitches. "I went home, and everyone--" he breaks off with a choke. "Father's....Grayson's sobbing. P-Pennyworth could barely speak to me. Cain and Todd are gone. And...Drake..."

Steph closes her eyes tightly just at the mention of his name.

"Brown, what..." Damian gulps. "What _happened?"_

She gulps. "Tim....there were drones. They were targeted to hit certain people. We...we didn't know who. He...he hacked them, turned them on himself instead. He tried to outrun them, but..."

Damian stares off into nowhere, his eyes uncomprehending. "Imbecile," he mumbles under his breath, more distracted and less vicious than usual. He glances up at Steph---doubtless noticing the fresh tears on her face; speaking about it had brought them back---and he drops his gaze quickly, rambling. "I...I could call Mother. I know how to get in touch with her. She wouldn't refuse me on this...and even if she did, Grandfather would _definitely_ assist--"

Steph shakes her head not even halfway into the sentence. "There's..." her voice breaks. "There was nothing _left_ of him, Damian. He's gone. We don't even have a body to bury--" she clamps her hands over her mouth to stifle a sob.

Damian blinks dully behind his mask. Steph doesn't have the wherewithal or the presence of mind to pay too much attention because she's full-on sobbing again now and can barely see through the tears.  

"He...he's not..." Damian mumbles. "He can't be--"

For some reason, Damian's disbelief grates. Maybe it's solely because it's coming from him---and damnit, she loves the little snot, she really does, but she _knows_ what he was like to Tim. Maybe it's because it's been three days and she's still broken, still hurting, and that pain is made just a little bit more sharp. Because she was _there,_ she saw what happened, she heard his stupid, self-deprecating, wry-but-panicked voice in her ear, saw the cloud of clicking, glowing drones descend, heard him screaming in her ear, and then he was gone. Maybe it's because Damian was waiting in her room and she had thought it was safe to collapse again. But whatever the reason, she bites out, "He _is._ He's _dead,_ Robin."

Damian acts like she's just shot him. He jolts back a bit, defensive and scared, and she instantly feels guilty and realizes suddenly that she'd called him 'Robin' like it was an insult. But before she can so much as open her mouth to apologize, Damian's jaw locks and his brows draw together, his whole demeanor suddenly turning hard and angry.

"Where the _hell_ was Father?" He snarls, the hatred palpable in his voice and on his face---which looks and sounds so _wrong_ for how small he is. (Though she will admit, it works, because her own fight-or-flight is kicking in and she has to force herself to stand straight and meet his outraged gaze.) His voice rises the longer he speaks, until he's practically screaming. "Where the hell were _you?_ Why didn't you _stop_ them? Why didn't you protect him? After all this time and _all_ we've been through, how many people we've lost, why the _hell didn't you all do something!?"_

He's half-crossed the room in his vigor, fists curled at his sides, practically vibrating with rage, and Steph can't take it. She just can't. She slumps backwards, reaching out blindly behind her to catch the wall as she hits it firmly, sliding down. Fresh tears pour down her cheeks, unbidden. She doesn't even have the energy to sob anymore. She just cries.

Damian stops. Just...freezes in the middle of the floor, and stares.

"Brown?" He whispers again. Hesitant, almost frightened.

"I'm sorry," she chokes, still crying. "I can't..."

Damian stares a moment more, then crosses the room in three strides, and is on his knees with his arms thrown around Steph's neck.

"I'm sorry, Brown," he stammers. "Don't cry, Brown. Please don't cry."

She appreciates the sentiment, but she can't oblige. She wraps her arms around Damian's small shoulders, buries her face in Damian's sweaty black hair, and weeps.

And she's dimly aware that Damian grows more and more limp and unresistant in her arms, and when his shoulders first hitch and his breath shudders against her, she just holds him tighter and cries with him.


End file.
